


Safe

by Writer_Rabbit



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: (Not the sexy kind), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asphyxiation, Assault, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Murder, Banter, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Carrying, Crying, Drowning, F/M, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gil Grissom Calls Sara Sidle Pet Names, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt Sara Sidle, Hurt/Comfort, Late at Night, Light Angst, Mouth-to-Mouth, Murder, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Nervousness, Panic, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Protective Gil Grissom, Protective Team, Season/Series 06, Unconsciousness, Water, bridal carry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Rabbit/pseuds/Writer_Rabbit
Summary: Sara was intelligent enough to know working nights had its advantages and its disadvantages. She was mature enough to accept these with equanimity. But could anyone blame her for being just theslightestbit annoyed when someone attacks her at a crime scene like a bat out of Hell?Takes place after S6:E20 “Poppin’ Tags”.
Relationships: Gil Grissom & Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom/Sara Sidle, Sara Sidle & Catherine Willows
Kudos: 16





	Safe

> _**“But hurry, let’s entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.”** _
> 
> **– Federico Garcia Lorca**

As with any lifestyle choice, working nights had its pros and cons. Pros included less traffic, better pay ( _barely_ , but hey, every penny counted), less competition, less hassle and meddling, and it was more convenient. Yeah, the last one was unexpected, wasn’t it? But Sara was an insomniac—and a lifelong learner insomniac at that. She liked the opportunity to still take classes. And it wasn’t like she lost any more sleep from being off during the day than she would normally.

The cons?

She didn’t have a life. She never went out; she hadn’t been on a date in _forever_. Weekends were weird. Accessing services and attending events during the day was a struggle. And, on top of it all, she got called out to the spookiest places in the middle of the night.

“Why do I have to go alone?” she demanded, hoping she was only imagining how whiny she sounded.

Catherine arched an eyebrow. “Because you’ll likely find nothing,” she said. “The cabin is a total bloodbath. We’re going to need as many CSIs as we can get to process it all, and all the uniforms are busy following the guy’s footprints into the desert. But we need to send _someone_ to make sure the murder weapon hasn’t been dropped into or around the lake.”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. “And why does that someone have to be me?”

The older woman planted her hands on her hip to counter Sara’s not-so-subtle posturing. “It doesn’t _have_ to be,” she said, “but arguing with me makes me want to dig in my heels. However, _I_ can be professional, so you can switch with Nick.”

She waved over Nick, but he had been in earshot and had already been heading over with a grin on his face.

“Ooh, you scared, Sidle?” he said, grabbing the flashlight out of her hand.

Sara scowled. “No.”

“You _sure_?” he singsonged.

She shoved at his shoulder. “I’m just _careful_ , Stokes,” she snarled. “Vigilant. Not naïve and childish. Unlike some people.”

Nick’s grin erupted into an utterly irritating chortle. “Oh, man, who would have thought?” he crowed. “Sara Sidle, scared of the dark… Or is it Lake Mead you’re scared of?”

Grumbling, Sara snatched her flashlight back. “You know what? Never mind,” she said. “I’m not scared. I can do this myself.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Are you su—?”

“Yes,” snapped Sara. “Stop coddling me.”

Catherine took a step back as if physically shocked. “I’m not coddling you,” she said, “you asked me to—”

Ignoring Nick’s poorly muffled laughing, Sara shook her head. “No, I didn’t,” she said. “I just wanted to know your reasons. Curiosity, that’s all.”

Spit flew out of Nick’s mouth as a snort burst past his lips.

Sara shot him a glare. “I’m going now.”

Nick flapped his hand in a sarcastic wave goodbye. “Scream if a monster comes at you and we’ll come running.”

“Ha-ha,” she muttered as she made sure her kit was ready.

“I’ll even bring Greg,” mused Nick. “I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance to be your knight in shining armour.”

Sara winced. “You’re not funny, Stokes,” she said, sharpening her voice to make sure it came across as a warning. He only grinned wider at her as she stalked off.

Adding the surprising lack of difference between high school boys and her colleagues to her list of cons, Sara slipped into professional mode. As much as she could, anyway, with the hairs on the back of her neck sticking right up and every crunch, whistle, and chirp of the desert sending her heartbeat skittering. She couldn’t recall having had to look around Lake Mead by herself before—if ever she _were_ put on scouting duty, she had been partnered with another CSI or at least a cop babysitter.

For some reason, that was making her nervous about being alone now.

What if something _did_ jump out? She knew weaponless defense, and she was incredibly familiar with the layout of this area from spending countless hours digging up bodies and sniffing out tossed guns. Plus, she had backup, even if with every step she was getting out of shouting range. Every shred of logical thinking in her told her she had no reason to worry, yet she was. Something—outside of natural logic and reason, evidently—told her she was going to die out here, something was going to get her…

Checking behind a bush, she shook herself. “Get your crap together, Sidle,” she hissed. “You’re a grown woman. You’re part of Las Vegas law enforcement, for Pete’s sake. Protect and serve, not wet your pants and cower. Goodness, if the team saw you now…”

She’d have to eat her words about her male colleagues being no better than teenage boys. How was she any better than a little girl?

Dragging her feet, she made her way to a cluster of bushes a few yards away. She hadn’t really been paying attention to how far or how long she had walked, but she was now at the lake’s shore, so it must have been a few minutes.

 _Am I still within shouting range?_ she fretted, then immediately berated herself for caring. It wasn’t like she was going to find anything, right? Nothing urgent, anyway, that needed the others to come to her instead of her going back to them.

A moment later, she realised just how wrong she was.

In the middle of the cluster of bushes, an unkempt man wearing only dirt and rags was crouched down, muttering to himself and clutching his head.

“Uh, sir?” she said.

His bloodshot eyes whipped to her and he started muttering more incessantly, volume increasing enough that she caught a few words that were not flattering either to her or to the man’s predicament as the newfound primary suspect. He grabbed for her, and a glimpse of what could be blood on his hands flashed before her as she jumped back.

“Guys!” she yelled, whirling around and stepping towards whence she had come. She started unholstering her gun. “Guys, I need some help over here. I think I found— _Mmph—!_ ”

The man wrapped one arm around her chest, his hand snaking around to clutch her neck, and the other knocked the gun out of her hand before clapping over her mouth.

She tried to elbow him, but he only held her tighter. As he dragged her towards the lake, she bit his hand and, when he released her for a moment, she screamed as loudly as she could. Then he was smacking her mouth and pressing down on her trachea, and all she could do was gasp for as much oxygen as she could.

Her mind was scattered, her thoughts frantic, but a few words managed to stumble into the order of coherent sentences. _What if no one heard me?_

Her heart seized as he wrestled her towards the water. She scratched and kicked at him with as much might as she used to grapple with her panic. She knew she couldn’t let it take hold of her, just as she knew she couldn’t let him control her.

_Think, think, think, Sidle! Is there any way I can get help? How can I get their attention?_

Dragging her into the water, the man raved about her—her hunting him down, getting in his way, being out to get him. As he shoved her under the water, she was almost as incoherent as he was.

_Oh, what if they don’t get to me in time?_

The water stung her eyes as she tried to pry them open. Bubbles filled her vision. They were all she could make out: even with her arms thrashing right in front of her, they were too unclear in the murky water. Bubbles—what she had used to see as childish then filled her with terror. Oxygen was leaving her, and it wasn’t coming back.

_I need to… I need to… Oh, no, how can I get out of his hold?_

Sara threw her head back. _Crack!_ As he let her go and she broke through the water surface, the sweet taste of air was enough to ease the pain blooming at the back of her skull from where she connected with the man’s hard nose. Hopefully, she had broken it…

She had barely gulped down a couple of breaths when she was being shoved back down under. The man was screeching expletives, but the blood rushing in her ears muffled what exactly he was saying.

She scratched at his arms and tried to kick out his knees, but her watery cage was rapidly leaching her energy. Her head was too fuzzy, too light… She couldn’t even orient herself anymore. Was she right side up? Had the man flipped her around? Was she upright, on her side, bent over? She didn’t know, she didn’t know…

Her grip on the man’s forearms loosened alongside her grip on consciousness. She was slipping, slipping…

Her body was going slack, and she was _watching_ —watching from above.

Everything still felt _off_ , but her senses were clearing up as she watched. Things weren’t entirely pellucid, however—there was a barrier of some sort between her and her body, a translucent wall that fogged her vision and kept her back. She floated above the scene, still attached to her body but no longer _t_ _rapped_ in it: the man and she were just a yard or two away from the shore.

The water couldn’t be more than a few feet deep.

Her body was floating lifelessly at the surface, but the man was still screaming bloody murder and wrestling with her limbs as if she were fighting back. But she wasn’t, was she? She didn’t have the energy… She didn’t have the motivation…

_“Sara!”_

A small crowd was running for the shore. As they started running into the water, she noted some of the faces seemed familiar…

“You bastard!” yelled a young man with a chiselled face as he grabbed her assailant’s shoulders and yanked him off of her. “Let go, or I swear—”

 _Nick!_ she thought suddenly. That’s who that was!

A more stout but even angrier looking man— _Oh! Brass!_ —helped Nick pull the ragged man out of the water as a blonde woman and greying man hurried Sara’s body to shore. While Nick’s and Brass’s faces were twisted with fury, concern contorted the blonde and her friend’s faces almost beyond identification. As they moved her onto her back, recognition dawned on her…

_Catherine._

_Grissom._

Sara’s stomach flipped for reasons she couldn’t name as she studied Grissom’s visage. He gnawed on his lip as Catherine pressed an ear to Sara’s chest.

“She’s not breathing,” declared Catherine, though her voice reached Sara garbled like they were in the middle of a phone call with bad service.

Grissom cursed as he pushed Catherine back and started CPR.

“I’ll go get…” Catherine trailed off. After a moment, she got off of her knees and hurried off somewhere.

Sara couldn’t bear to watch Grissom, so she watched the rest of the scene. Nick and Brass were hustling her assailant towards the primary crime scene with the help of a handful of uniforms trying to subdue him. Other cops and two more familiars were barking orders at each other and running around the place, looking for something. As one of the familiars called over the other to the bushes where she had found the crazed man, she recalled their names: _Warrick. Greg._

She was going to miss them.

She was going to miss all of them.

Because she couldn’t go back, could she? There was very little tethering her to this world, and none of it had the weight to actually anchor her. She was…indifferent. So what if she floated away? What difference would it make? To her? To anyone?

“Dammit, Sara!”

Her eyes shot back to Grissom. He had taken the moment to swear, but he was then back to pressing his mouth to hers and breathing air into her. As he switched to chest compressions, he gasped, “God, please, Sara… I need you. I need you. Please don’t leave.”

For a completely different reason now, air rushed out of Sara’s lungs—if not her physical ones. Grissom needed her?

A breath. A breath. Chest compressions. “I’m not giving up on you. I need you. Please, Sara, please… Come back to me.”

 _I would do anything for you, Grissom,_ she thought. _I would give you anything you asked for._

So she closed her eyes, and the world rushed back.

She felt like she had just skipped three chapters in a book whose plot was already confusing. Inexplicably, she was hacking up water and struggling to breathe. Her ribs hurt with how forcefully they expanded as she greedily sucked in as much air as she could.

“Wh–What…?” she coughed.

Grissom shushed her as he helped her sit up, half cradling her to his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything. Just breathe. You’re okay. Just breathe, honey.”

She could do that. For him. She could do that.

But, heavens, why couldn’t she remember anything? All she could recall was…was the crime scene, and Nick, and… Oh. The bushes. The man.

A sob broke past her lips.

The water.

Grissom pulled her into a hug, though he refrained from crushing her to his chest, probably remembering breathing was still an issue. “It’s okay, honey,” he said into her hair, petting it with one hand and brushing her back with the other. “Ssh, ssh, darling. You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

A familiar voice shrieked, “I’m no killer! I’m not! She attacked me, she did!” into the night. Even though the man wasn’t visible, the wind carried his voice, and Sara tensed and stopped breathing all over again.

Grissom tightened his hold on her. “I’ve got you, Sara,” he said. “He won’t get anywhere near you while I’m here, okay?”

Sara exhaled shakily as she nodded.

“Good,” he murmured, starting to rock them back and forth. “It’s okay. Let it out. Lean on me. I’ll protect you.”

Sara would have laughed if she had had her breathing under control yet. Heavens, she had really made a fool of herself tonight, hadn’t she? Freaking out back at the cabin, then being foolishly defenseless against a suspect’s attack, and now freaking out upon her rescue. “I’ll protect you”? If anyone overheard, man, that would be the end of her reputation…

Pressing her face into his neck and crying softly, though, Sara found she didn’t care. She liked being protected. Being held. Being safe. Being needed…wanted…loved.

At least, she felt loved. Breathing in Grissom’s scent and measuring his inhales and exhales so she could match hers to them, Sara decided she wouldn’t break the illusion by overtalking again. She would just breathe, breathe, breathe…

“They’re going to need your statement,” said Grissom. She almost hated him for bringing that up, but she would permit him just about anything if he continued holding her and rubbing her back.

“And they’ll need to take you to the hospital,” he added.

Sara nodded. He wouldn’t have noticed from vision alone, but he probably felt the movement against his skin. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted as if troubled by something.

She felt around until she found the hand he wasn’t using to rub her back. Gripping it as tightly as she could manage, she asked, “St–Stay with me?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, then a silence so painful she opened her mouth to take it back. Before she could, he answered in the softest voice she had ever heard from him, “Of course, my dear.”

She forced a laugh out of her lungs as she leaned back to look him in the face, careful not to fully leave his embrace. “I guess you were right,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes scanning her face and body. “About…?”

She shrugged one shoulder and avoided his eyes. “Last week,” she said, “the Dollar and Hi-Def case. You said you were good at mouth-to-mouth.” She coyly met his gaze. “You definitely are.”

Grissom chuckled, the sound coming out a little strangled. “Thank God,” he said. He pulled her back into a hug, using the hand on her back to cradle her neck and guide her head into his chest. “Thank _God_ ,” he breathed.

She was trying to think of what to say—or, really, how to say what she wanted to, which was “And thank _you_ ”—but just then Catherine showed up with a sour look and an even more acrid blanket. Her features brightened when she and Sara made eye contact.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” greeted the older woman. As she squatted down to tuck the blanket around Sara, she described the scene back at the cabin. “I tried to get a paramedic, but the only one there had to attend to our blabbering John Doe.”

Grissom’s arms tightened around her as he exclaimed, “What?”

Catherine exhaled evenly through her nose and plopped down on the sand beside them. “Yup,” she said. “Apparently, Nick and Brass used a bit too much force on the guy. I would say it was _just right_ , though. He put up a real fight.”

“Yeah,” croaked Sara. “He’s pretty tough.”

An awkward silence wound through them, squeezing any life out of their dynamic. “S–Sorry,” she mumbled.

Catherine rubbed her back. “Don’t be,” she said. “If… If anything, _I’m_ sorry. I’m sorry for making you go alone out here, especially when you felt uneasy.”

“You did what?” growled Grissom. He seemed to subconsciously pull Sara back, angling her away from Catherine.

“It’s okay, Gris,” said Sara, crushing the hand she still held in hers. “My unease was kind of stupid, and Catherine couldn’t have known. Every shred of logical thinking supported her decision.”

“Well,” muttered Grissom, “that man definitely didn’t listen to logic.”

Sara choked out a strained laugh. “Crazy people do make me feel crazy.”

Catherine started rubbing her back again. “You feel crazy?” she asked.

She shrugged, though the gesture was weak as her shivers really settled into her bones. “I feel…,” she said. “I feel…like… I feel like I should have done more.”

“Oh, no, Sara—” started Catherine. Sara ignored her.

“Like I _should_ never have been in the water,” she continued, oblivious to the worried looks Catherine and Grissom gave each other. “There were a dozen ways I could have prevented this ever happening, and I… I just…”

“Honey,” murmured Grissom, “it’s okay.”

Sara jerked back. “N–No, it’s not,” she gasped. Icy tendrils of realisation were wrapping around her, pressing in on her until she was struggling to breathe again. “I… I almost died. I could have died, Grissom, I—”

A sudden lack of oxygen cut her off. She had almost _died_. During what should have been a totally routine—if a little process-heavy with all that evidence—investigation. At the hands of a violently deranged man. Heavens, why did that keep happening to her? Why? Why, why, why…

“—eathe, darling, breathe—”

Sara met Grissom’s gaze. His brow was furrowed and concern swam in his eyes. Against her better judgement, she looked down, surveying the rest of him. Despite it being dark, and wet, and so very cold, Grissom still looked put together and _damn_ good. Then Sara noticed he was speaking.

Fixating on his mouth, she slowly pieced together what he was saying. He was counting.

With his guidance, Sara wrangled her breathing back into a healthy range. Even as his counting petered out, however, she kept her eyes on his lips.

The tail end of what Grissom was saying to Catherine broke through the haze surrounding Sara. “—shock?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious yet,” said Catherine. “But the cold is probably getting to her, making it harder for her to deal with all this.”

“We should get back to the cabin,” concluded Grissom.

“John Doe didn’t need the ambulance, so it can take Sara to the hospital,” said Catherine. “I’ll go with her so you can finish up here.”

Though Sara still hadn’t rediscovered the ability to speak, Catherine’s plan jarred her, and she pressed herself into Grissom’s front. Thankfully, he got the message and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“That’s okay,” he said. “You finish up here.”

Sara couldn’t see her, but she was sure Catherine was arching a fine eyebrow. “Well, alright,” she said. There was a pause, and Sara could feel the other woman’s eyes weighing down on her. “I don’t think she can walk right now. At least, not the distance.”

Grissom started shifting them around until he was kneeling and holding her against him. “That’s also okay,” he said. “You of all people should know I’m not _quite_ as arthritic and broken down as the young ones think I am.”

Catherine snorted. “What makes you think that about me?”

“Oh, well, you know.” Grissom cleared his throat, and Sara could clearly picture Cath’s dark look. “You’re… You’re closer to my age, so—”

“Don’t say another word, Grissom,” said Catherine, tone balanced and sharp.

Grissom nodded and licked his lips, which only made Sara more entranced with his mouth. Then, he scooped her up into a bridal carry and started back for the cabin. Catherine followed at his side, holding one of his elbows with one hand and keeping the blanket secure around her with the other.

After a few minutes, Sara dragged her eyes up to Grissom’s. He was already looking at her, indicating he had been watching her the whole time. Sara realised Catherine was probably holding his elbow not just to steady him, but to guide him—he just couldn’t take his eyes off of her. That gaze was so intense she shuddered. 

“Shh, you’re safe,” he murmured. “I won’t let you go.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she found herself liking the sensation. Maybe she _was_ in shock, for a part of her knew she wouldn’t be at all happy with being carried like a damsel in distress in plain view of all of her colleagues if she were fully lucid.

She would blame it on that, then.

And when she returned to work, she would be ready to bash in the head of anyone who dared insinuate she was anything other than capable. She would be back to her public no-nonsense, ass-kicking self. Until then, she would enjoy having Grissom’s arms around her where everyone could see.

She snuggled in closer to his body heat and allowed herself to sigh contentedly for the first time in a while.

Okay, so, another con to working nights: people tried to drown her in lakes.

But there was Gil Grissom to save her, warm her up, and comfort her when that did happen. And he was a pro that made it _all_ worth it.

> _**“Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person.”** _
> 
> **– George Eliot**

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism and/or if you have noticed any mistakes. I am toying with the idea of a sequel because there was some GSR fluff I wanted to include but couldn’t fit in, so comment below if you’d like a second part. I hope you enjoyed this one, and thank you so much for reading. <3


End file.
